Well, I suppose that given the excellent 2018 Gig Year thus far, I was
due a complete clunker… just didn’t expect it to be from Brian Fallon…
Fallon – former mainstay with The Gaslight Anthem, a band once described
as “the “CSI” to The Hold Steady’s “The Wire”,” a shinier, pacier and more
user-friendly version of The Greatest Rock’n’Roll Band On The Planet, a band
who would’ve soundtracked “The Wild One” had Bruce Springsteen and not Marlon
Brando been cast in the main role, all fast-living, fast rocking anthemic blue
collar rock – announced a tour in support of sophomore solo effort
“Sleepwalkers”, and given his fine solo showing last time out (April 2016, gig
982), I was keen to see him again, so signed up on the CD release pre-sale and
duly snapped up tix before it swiftly sold out. Initial listens of the CD were
inconclusive – a bit of bluesy “Treme” type material, some almost early
Motown-esque soulful stuff, but overall a bit schizophrenic and lacking
cohesion – but hopes were that it would make better sense “live”. Little did I
know…
Rach dropped me off at Matt H’s place after Logan’s swim sesh, Matt
(with brother and Raze*Rebuild colleague Si in tow, as well as myself) hitting
the loud pedal for a startlingly swift drive down, meeting Matt C outside and
hitting the already-rammed and difficult-to-navigate venue at 20 to 8. Took a
wander to the balcony, stage right, which served us well last time out, for
opener Dave Hause at 8. Accompanied by brother Tim on occasional keys and
mandolin, he worked through some acoustically-played old school
Springsteen-esque flag-waving rock anthems similar to the headliner – a little
too similar, perhaps? Full of references to “cold hard towns” and the like, it
all seemed very serious, very earnest. Si mentioned during “We Can Be Kings”
that that number prompted a rewrite of R*R’s vastly superior “New Leaf”; didn’t
see the comparison, myself… Hause continually played up to the Bristol crowd,
listing all the local venues he’d played in, and trotted out a cover of Tom
Petty’s “Won’t Back Down” as his penultimate number. A decent if
one-dimensional start; he went down well with the packed floor, so what the
fuck do I know?
Matt C and I took a wander onto the floor for a better view, as Brian
Fallon led his charges onstage at 9pm sharp. From the outset, however, the
sound was subdued and flat, with “Rosemary”, second number in and probably the
most Gaslight-like of his solo oeuvre, cantering gently when it should gallop,
Fallon’s very gravelly voice dominating proceedings. The mood remained
restrained, understated, dull even, with a soulful “Ladykillers” – a product of
his excellent Horrible Crowes side-project – the best of this early set (an earlier “If
Your Prayers Don’t Get You To Heaven” was flat-out rubbish, reminding me of
Phil Collins’ awful cover of “You Can’t Hurry Love”). His backing band seemed
frankly disinterested throughout and added nothing to the performance. Then we
had the vaudeville routine…
I’d seen Fallon both monosyllabic and voluble before, going off on odd
tangents; however I didn’t expect a near-15 minute incoherent ramble and
dialogue with the audience, which started off as a discussion on accents, went
through the origins of Blackbeard the pirate, took in why turnpikes and
parkways are thusly named, and the merits of chasing cheese down a hill… All a
little unnecessary and wearing, and clearly distracting for Fallon, as the set,
which was struggling to start with, deteriorated markedly thereafter, a
sparkling and deliciously haunting “Sugar” – another Horrible Crowes number and
easily head, shoulders and torso above anything else on show tonight –
notwithstanding.
More ramblings and odd interaction with the audience about his jacket
(“it was made from the tears of Noel Gallagher!” which at least was a funny
line) rounded off the set; the encore featuring a wholly inappropriate
voice/piano version of Gaslight’s rattling, anthemic “59 Sound”, an attempt to
turn it into a sombre murder ballad which didn’t work, given its’ soaring
chorus. After a perfunctory final cover of U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m
Looking For” (me neither – I’m looking for a good gig!) it was thankfully over.
I took a run at a set-list anyway, but the head roadie/ tour manager was being
a complete cunt about that as well, arrogantly stopping his more helpful
colleagues from handing one out, despite my very polite requests. Small man on
a power trip. Fuck you, mate.
Bade farewell to Matt C and we headed off home digesting tonight’s
events, all in agreement. I rather hoped it wasn’t just me, and I rather hoped
that I wasn’t comparing the poor sound, flat atmosphere, pirate bullshit and
disinterested performance to my gig last Friday, when Gaz Brookfield and his
merry men put in 100% effort, left it all onstage and delivered an utterly
cracking performance. No, this wasn’t a rubbish gig in comparison with Gaz. It
was just a rubbish gig. “Sleepwalkers”? Sadly, absolutely…
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